Sorry
by varietyofwords
Summary: Cappie's sorry for a lot of things, this isn't one of them. Oneshot. CaseyCappie. Spoilers for "Spring Broke."


**Title:** Sorry

**Fandom:** _Greek_

**Coupling:** Cappie/Casey

**Word Count:** 1,838

**Rating:** PG-13/T

**Author's Note:** Just a little one-shot that popped after "Spring Broke."

At the end of today, you'll officially be a graduate student at Northwestern University, which means that life at Cyprus-Rhodes will be over. This morning you graduated, your name announced in front of the entire campus.

Chevron Jethro Caplan.

Coincidentally, you sat right next to Casey.

Caplan. Cartwright.

She had smiled at you from under her black cap, the yellow tassel blending into the coloring of her hair. And for a moment, you felt yourself losing who you are in the color of her eyes.

Your parents weren't there but even though Casey's were, you were her loudest supporter. To the point where Evan, who sat five people down, shot you a dirty look for being so obnoxious. And after the last person, Jenna Zaire, accepted her diploma for a bachelor's of art in art history, you had thrown your cap into the air with Casey.

You made her promise to stop by later tonight before she left under the false pretence that you had something to give her and she had agreed, saying that she could only stay for a little while since Zeta Beta Zeta has their good-bye ceremony tonight and her parents still want to take her out for dinner.

So you've spent the last hour cleaning and packing up this room. The Indian headdress thrown into one box, the Scottish kilt in another, all the while you've been looking for something to give her so you didn't lie just to see her.

The only thing you've been able to find was an old t-shirt of hers, the pie tin from the first pie you shared together, and the teal bra you found with Rebecca last spring, which is totally yours but you're thinking that in a crunch you could totally pass it off as hers. You have a shoe box full of photos and mementos from your time together but you're not prepared to part with those just yet, which probably makes you sound like a sixteen-year-old girl.

You grab an empty cardboard box off the floor and drop it onto your unmade bed. You place the box of mementos in the box and scooping up a handful of t-shirts you piled on the floor as you cleaned out your closet, you dump them into a box. Maybe you have too many t-shirts, you think to yourself as there's a knock at your bedroom door.

For a second, you're afraid that it might be blubbering Beaver insisting on another hug good-bye but when you open the door, you're happy to see that it's Casey.

"Hi Cap," Casey says with a soft smile that makes you smile back. She always did have that affect on you.

You eyes, like always, give her body a once over. She's wearing a pink tank top, a necklace hanging down her chest, and a short blue jean skirt that could have the potential to take this semi-plutonic relationship into dangerous territory.

"Cappie?" Casey asks you, breaking you out of your trance.

"Yeah," you mumble back as you step aside to let her into your room.

"So where's this present…" she asks you as her voice trails off.

"Uh," you begin and she cuts you off.

"Don't tell me it was imaginary," she says and you give her a smirk in response.

"I should have know," she tells you as she sinks down on to your bed. Shifting, she pulls a pair of fuzzy, red handcuffs out from under her and holds them out to you.

"I hear you're going to Northwestern," Casey tells you.

"I hear you're going to Northwestern," you reply and Casey gives you a kind of dismissive chuckle.

"You know what's funny," she says to you and you sink down onto the bed next to her.

"What?" You ask her as you watch her fingers fondle the fuzzy, red handcuffs in her hands.

"Do you remember spring break last year?"

How could you forget?

"And how I told you I was coping off someone else's paper for my ten year plan?" You nod your head and she gives you a short smile. "I think I'm copying off someone else's…_Yours_."

You give her this weird look because she knows just as well as you that you don't have a ten year plan. At least, not one that's feasible. The silence must have made her uncomfortable because she's doing that thing where she blubbers on and refuses to look you in the eye, like she's afraid to hold your gaze for too long.

"Because I don't want to be pushed out into the harsh reality of forty…eighty hour work weeks, cubicles, and two week vacations, so I'm going to Northwestern to squander away more of my parents' money until I decide what I want to do for the rest of my life."

"Case," you say interrupting her before she can continue to ramble on. "I don't care if you cheated off me. God knows I've cheated off you before."

She gets this far away look in her eyes, like she's remembering how you cheated off her creative writing assignment for that mandatory writing class freshman year, like she's remembering how when the two of you were busted, you managed to sweet talk your way out of a failing grade for you and her.

"So, how did you manage to graduate if you've never picked a major?" Casey asks as she shifts her body, so one leg is propped up on the bed and that skirt rises up a little farther.

"Oh, Dean Bowman pulled some strings," you tell her and she nods her head, her mouth perused in the form of an 'o'.

"And you graduated with a degree in education," she says gesturing to your forgotten diploma lying on top of a tapped box.

"His idea," you tell her and she smiles at you as you stand up.

"I think you'd make a great teacher," she tells you as she brushes a strand of blonde hair out of her face and back behind her ear.

"Case," you start while giving her a completely deadpan look. "I spent most of my life getting away from classrooms, what makes you think I'd wanna go back? Willingly? For the peanuts they pay teachers?"

"I don't know," she says with a smile. "I just think you'd be good at it."

"Yeah, sure, Ms. Politician," you reply as you grab a handful of t-shirts and drop them into another box.

"Aren't you gonna fold those?" She asks and you shake your head no as you tap the box shut.

"Nah. They're just gonna go right back on the floor when I get to Chicago."

"True," she replies as she tosses the fuzzy, red handcuffs into an open box.

"Two points for President Cartwright," you tell her as you dump another handful of t-shirts into a box.

"Nope, I'm no longer President Cartwright. I'm just Plan Less Cartwright," she says as she stands up and adjusts her skirt.

"Hey, Plan Less Cartwright is fun," you remind her and she chuckles. Although, you're not sure if it's because of your reminder or the fact that you are currently trying to untwist and pull the sides of the clear packing tape apart with little success.

"That she is," Casey replies with a smile as she holds the top of the box shut so you can tape it. "And Plan Less Cartwright is having dinner with her parents, so she needs to get going."

You nod you head, too afraid to say something to her because what you should say and what you're aching to say, what your heart wants you to say are two completely different statements and the later of the two statements could wind up with you biding a final farewell to The Lunchbox tonight.

"I guess I'll see you around campus, Cap," she replies and out of the corner of her eye, you can tell she's wondering if she should say something more. You don't say anything; she doesn't say anything, so in the end she heads to the door and you keep your gaze fixated on the box you just taped shut.

"Bye…" she trails off as she opens the door to your room and all of the sudden you can't let things end this way.

"I'm sorry," you tell her and the sound of her footsteps on the hardwood floors stop completely. Neither of you turn around to face one another, too afraid to look each other in the eye.

"I'm sorry," you repeat as she shuts the door to your bedroom and you turn around to make sure she's still there. "I'm sorry for not walking you home after karaoke. I'm sorry for not being on time for the Greek ball."

"Cappie," she drawls out as she turns around to face you.

"I'm sorry for punching Evan, for getting you in trouble with Frannie and Emily and Savannah and everyone else at Zeta Beta. I'm sorry for ignoring you, for picking my house over you. I'm sorry for being the worst boyfriend in the world when you deserve the best. I'm sorry I bribed the TA with two six packs of beer. I'm sorry for leaving you at the hotel in Myrtle Beach and for going back to Rebecca."

"Cap," she begins and she has her "dismissive" face on, the one where she pretends what you're saying is water under the bridge, what you're saying isn't important so she won't have to face the harsh reality, but you won't let her get off the hook that easily so you take a step closer to her.

"I'm _not_ sorry for kissing you in the pool hall. I'm not sorry for trying to win you back when I found out you were going to be lavaliered by Evan. I'm not sorry for kissing you after finishing our term paper. And I'm not sorry for kissing you on the beach, under the dock."

"Cap," she says cutting you off, her eyes firmly shut because she doesn't want to hear what you have to say.

"And I'm not sorry for this," you tell her before you grab her and plant your lips firmly on hers. At first, she's shocked, unresponsive but in the end, she's kissing you back and clutching on to you tightly, just like she did on the beach two spring breaks ago.

All that passion that was there freshman year, and two spring breaks ago, is still there and as you make this a kiss with a French twist, that passion bubbles over.

You're afraid to break apart, afraid to let her go but you're lungs are burning and you need oxygen, so you reluctantly let her go. And as your chest heaves up and down, you search for an answer in her eyes.

"Wow," she mumbles and you're not sure if her response is good or bad. She looks up at you with this kind of misty eyed look on her face.

"I'm not sorry you did that, either."


End file.
